


A Dangerous Method

by Evenseven



Category: Eastern Promises (2007)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Fluff and Angst, M/M, No Beta, Post-Canon, Random & Short, Russian Mafia, Self-Denial, it was suppose to be sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26086939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenseven/pseuds/Evenseven
Summary: Not that Nikolai really cared about Kirill’s feeling, not at all.It was all just a dangerous method to secure the leash in his hands, nothing more than that.
Relationships: Kirill/Nikolai Luzhin
Kudos: 8





	A Dangerous Method

**Author's Note:**

> I had this random idea in my head all day I needed to write it, but it didn't come out as what I'd imagined...  
> No beta and sorry for my bad writing really.
> 
> Title from that we-all-know-what film.
> 
> _（虽然完全不是甜饼，但群里太太们七夕快乐。）_

London had always smelled like dog shit and cheap cigarette smoke to Nikolai, gloomy and rainy more often than not. After a while living in the city he had learned how to breathe without inhaling the stinking air, or maybe it’s just all in his head. Sometimes he smelled the brisk night wind tangled with blood trail, the lotus perfume candles in the doorway to his apartment mixed with filthy sex, and of course, the borsch in the kitchen of Semyon’s restaurant infused with vodka scent.

No, it’s Kirill’s restaurant now. The cunning father of Kirill would never make it out of prison with all the criminal evidence against him, and even if he did some dozen years later, the world would have changed and unrecognizable for him anymore.

Now Kirill was in charge with his family business, Nikolai would be his all-time-consulter and the only man he could trust. The young man managed to actually pick up a thing or two about business when he’s not drunk, or near sober was the closest he could get. After all, the little Russian bastard had alcohol in his vines by nature, more so than the stars on his chest.

The past week he had been busy, feeling like a representative of some big company rather than a _vory_ chief, but that was just the thing he had to deal with. He took the train all the way up to Liverpool where he couldn’t understand half of what the locals were saying, in order to negotiate about a wine import line from Ireland. Of course, nobody cared about the wine, or whatever they made up there, but if he could establish a good trading with the local mafia, securing a new means of import transportation wouldn’t be far away, which, was absolutely not used for wine.

The air on Albert Dock smelled like a mixture of gunpowder and rotten seafood, on the third day of his journey Nikolai was dying to go back. It wasn’t that bad, maybe, it’s just inside his head, and he’d be able to keep a straight face as always, focusing on potential danger lurking in the dark and letting his mind wonder off if permitted.

At the sunset of the sixth day, he boarded the train southbound with a wayward headache. The stiffness on his shoulders was almost insufferable, and he couldn’t recall feeling this fatigued and empty in maybe three years, or even longer, ever since he started working as a driver for Kirill. Not even when he was lying in the hospital bed having trouble breathing for his gut hurt so much, back then he was thinking about how Kirill would tease him about a knife fight in a sauna, while he’s the only one _naked_ in the affray. There was a young couple who shared the train cabinet with him tried to engaged Nikolai in some small talk or random conversation, he didn’t bother to pay real attention. At some point the narrow space inside the train fell back to silence, perhaps the couple had seen the tattoos on his hand, perhaps it was his accent when he said “I’m tired, I need some sleep” that frightened them. Either way, no one provoked him anymore in the next three hour on the road, and his headache seemed to finally back down a bit.

Tonight Nikolai smelled of blood on the very street of London, a dirty and rusty razor blade grazed into human flesh, row and violent, something in the back of his head was telling him it’s going to be a long night. 

He went up to meet Kirill in his private office on the second floor of the restaurant, didn’t want to drag his feet but was a bit too tired to care. When he pushed the door open, he was expecting a drunken young boss greeting his return with a sluggish hug, instead he found a pair of icy blue eyes, cold and fierce like a knife piercing his skin.

“Who was that woman?” It’s the first thing Kirill had to say to him, before he even had the time to assess the situation.

“What woman?” He responded almost spontaneously, resulting in a spark of anger in the young man’s glare, if he’s not infuriating enough already.

“Oh don’t play me like a fool,” Kirill ground his teeth, closed the distance between them in a few steps and grabbed the collar of his shirt in both hands, “You secret little lover up north!”

This man was clearly drunk, Nikolai concluded, judging by the vodka scent in his breath and the half-lucid state of his eyes. Great, just what he needed after a long week.

“Kirill,” He tried to keep his voice calm and steady, “I have no secret little lover.”

The young man didn’t buy it, of course, he clutched his fists a little harder, long blonde eyelashes nearly grazed his cheekbones. “Don’t lie to me!” Kirill barked back like a crazy hound, angry andready to shred him apart in a vicious bite, “Who was that woman? That fucking red-headed bitch you met in a bar!”

Oh, that.

“That _red-headed bitch_ was Frances, a female representative of the circle that deals dock business with us,” Nikolai grunted with a stern face, “it’s a social call, and the negotiation went well, by the way. We should be able to establish a private transport chain from Albert Dock directly to London, would be good for future use.”

“I didn’t ask you that!”

“Well, you should, you’re the boss now, remember? You really need to learn about putting business first.”

“And what do I need you for? Are you telling me to deal with trading so you can run off with some random chick?” With that, the slim arms flipped him around in one swing, pushing him forward with an inevitable force. Nikolai tried not to protest too much, but the next moment he found himself bending over the huge office desk and his cheekbone crashing into the wooden surface, causing him to curse out in pain.

Nikolai almost forgot how hard it was sometimes to restrain this crazy dog, there was always a note of wildness in his bones and could be easily accelerated by any small insinuation. Like a bottle of cheap champagne, or a feather-like kiss he blew to another woman. The former one made Kirill burned in tipsy bliss, the latter one made him burned in sickly jealous indignation. Like right now, Kirill slammed him into the desk with raging force, locking his waist in position with slender but firm arms, his broad chest pressed against his shoulder blades and — of course, hard cock grinding his ass like they were in the middle of a clumsy flirt session instead of an argument. Kirill was not as well-trained as Nikolai himself, but he was young and savage, especially under the influence of alcohol or possibly some other stuff he shuffled down his throat.

“I’m not gonna run off with her, or any chick.” Nikolai wondered for a split second if there’s any use to explain the encounter with sensible mind, or he should just let Kirill “fuck it off,” it’s not the first time anyway, “I told you, it’s only a social call. We had dinner and a few drinks, to know each other a bit more, as in the whole organization. They don’t do business with stranger, they had to make sure we’re valid, we needed that too.”

“Shut the fuck up! You’re just playing with me!” Kirill barked again at his ear, now his headache was back. Maybe he should consider kicking the young man to the floor, surely Kirill would put up a fight at this stage of lucidity, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

But then, a wet tongue came in touch with his earlobe, Kirill’s hot breath was tickling his nerves. Nikolai kept still and tacit for a while, and instead of angry groan, he heard a whimper followed by the young boss’ fragile voice: “Kolya…Don’t run away from me…I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

Nikolai let out a sigh, he couldn’t really reject Kirill in such a circumstance, could he?

Kirill was an unpredictable man, conflicted and tenuous, some times more than the other. The way he was had something to do with his fucked-up family, or the consistent inconsistency between high expectation from his father and disappointment he had performed. This kind of men was easy to manipulate, which was exactly Nikolai had wanted out from this slightly twisted relationship of them. He wanted Kirill to feel vulnerable and helpless without him, to count on him in dealing with _Bratva_ affairs, to trust him and him alone. He had always been good at manipulating people, pulling strings in the dark while holding his own emotions concealed. It wasn’t much of a challenge with Kirill, especially when that devious and suspicious father of his out of picture now. The rather naive young boss listened to his advice and ran around the direction he pointed, wanted only some vague affection in return.

Obviously he could get out of control sometimes, but nothing a few sweet words and some gentle caress of Nikolai couldn’t comfort, in no time he would shift back to his normal pitiful self, like a lost puppy following Nikolai around. From now and then he would indulge Kirill with a rough fuck, with his back against the freezing wall or his knees crushing on to the Persian rug behind his desk, but that was a rare situation after all. Most of the time the young _vory_ boss treated him like a delicate antique, he would plant tender kisses on his lip and lick through every scar on his body.

Like he was worshiping his only God.

Not tonight, Nikolai gathered, when he was lost in thoughts and forgot to respond immediately, Kirill took his silence as rejection. His hands reached around to the front, slim fingers unbuckled his belt and slid it away in one move, then proceeded to yank down his pants with a violent act. A loud smack echoed in the empty room, red fingerprints spread on the pale skin of this backside. Nikolai grunted out another curse, but before he could turn around to protest, two wet finger breached his entrance without mercy.

It hurt like hell, that’s all Nikolai managed to sense. Kirill’s fingers were probably lubed only with saliva, and his body was no way near prepared.

Kirill was mad, obviously, jealous over nothing, perhaps, and why would he know he had a drink with Frances at the bar anyway? Did he plant a spy in Liverpool or had someone tail him all the way up north without him noticing? It’s probably that young driver he dragged along, name’s Anton or something, probably reported back to Kirill about every meal he ate and every person he met. Dirty little traitor.

Kirill bit on the side of his neck, it almost felt like nothing compared to the burning of his back. Nikolai started to calculate the best way to sooth the crazy dog purring filth into his bare skin, some mad Russian mixed with English blaspheme, about the obscene things he wanted to do to him. Nikolai could always kick him away, yet in the back of his mind, he had always known that it was the price to pay for manipulating Kirill.

The pain aside, he was the one asking for it from the start. It would be a fucking dirty lie if Nikolai said he never anticipated this kind of situation, and this among of pain…The pain he caused for Kirill must be a hundred times worse, not that he should care, but here he was, standing in the middle of a _Bratva_ office that was supposed to be his father’s, bending over the polish hardwood surface naked from waist down, waiting for the sacrifice he had to make to come.

A salvation of his own, to justify the evil he committed.

Kirill didn’t choose to be born into this fucked-up family, but Nikolai chose to entice him in exchange of only everything he had. The recognition in _vory_ leaders, the power of his family in a huge _Bratva_ , the dirty money they squeezed from London city.

Not that Nikolai really cared about Kirill’s feeling, not at all. 

It was all just a dangerous method to secure the leash in his hands, nothing more than that.

Nikolai didn’t strike the young man down with brutal force, even under the pain and humiliation Kirill carried out on him. He bit down his bottom lip in attempt of swallowing back a cry, steadily breathed out a few words with rasped voice:

“ _Я уже твоя… Разве этого не достаточно?_ ”

“No! Never…” Kirill answered without hesitancy, he heard a sniffle but he couldn’t see when he’s pinned down on the table. Kirill’s voice softened, murmuring something incomprehensible for his throbbing headache, something like apology, something like the word they never used.

“Koyla…I’m sorry…” The fingers inside his ass retreated, Nikolai let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the burning sensation died down just a little, and thank god because he really wasn’t in the mood for a rough fuck tonight.The bounding on his hip released as Kirill led him to stand up, turn over and face the young man, still half-naked but not as vulnerable as before.

Kirill looked like he just shed a thousand tears, with red-shotted eyes and trembling lips, kissed him ever so tenderly on his lightly sacred cheek. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Nikolai inhaled deeply, raising a hand to cup the side of his clean-shaven chin. “It’s okay, you didn’t.” He was surprised by how gentle and forgiving his own voice sounded, but it was already out of control.

“Come back to my place later tonight.” Kirill met his gaze with a pair of wet blue eyes, half commanding half pleading.

Maybe he would, or maybe he wouldn’t.

Kirill tried to comfort him with another soft kiss on his lip, but Nikolai didn’t need the comfort. He’s the one offering consolation every time Kirill wiggled his tail, not the other way around. Yet he found himself responded almost impulsively, deepened the kiss and opened his mouth to let the young man’s wicked tongue do whatever he wanted.

And the scent of Kirill’s aftershave filled his brain, bergamot, pear, and clean musk, fresh and aromatic simultaneously, chasing away the stickiness of the city he had been smelling all this time. Nikolai wanted more, not because he ought to, simply because he desired it.

It was a dangerous method after all, and he kept falling, falling ever deeper.

**Author's Note:**

> Subtitles:
> 
> _Я уже твоя… Разве этого не достаточно?_ \- I’m yours…Isn’t that enough?


End file.
